Between each A&t the trembling falvers ring, From foup to sweet-wine, and God bless the King. And complaifantly help'd to all I hate, Treated, carefs'd, and tir'd, I take my leave, I curfe fuch lavish coft, and little skill, 165 And fwear no day was ever past so ill. Yet hence the Poor are cloath'd, the Hungry fed; Health to himself, and to his infants bread, 170 The Labourer bears: What his hard Heart denies, Another age fhall fee the golden Ear Imbrown the Slope, and nod on the Parterre, 175 And laughing Ceres reaffume the land. Who then shall grace, or who improve the Soil? Who plants like Bathurst, or who builds like Boyle. 'Tis Ufe alone that fanctifies Expence, And Splendor borrows all her rays from Senfe. 180 185 190 You You too proceed! make falling Arts your care, Till Kings call forth th' Ideas of your mind, 195 200 MORAL MORAL ESSAY S. EPISTLE V. TO MR. ADDISON, Occafioned by his Dialogues on MEDALS. THIS was originally written in the year 1715, when Mr. Addison intended to publish his book of Medals; it was fome time before he was Secretary of State; but not published till Mr. Tickell's Edition of his works; at which time the verfes on Mr. Craggs, which conclude the poem, were added, viz. in 1720. As the third Epiftle treated of the extremes of Avarice and Profufion; and the fourth took up one particular branch of the latter, namely, the Vanity of Expence in people of wealth and quality, and was therefore a corollary to the third; fo this treats of one circumstance of that Vanity, as it appears in the common collectors of old coins: and is, therefore, a corollary to the fourth. EE the wild Waste of all-devouring years! SE How Rome her own fad fepulchre appears, With nodding arches broken temples spread! The very Tombs now vanish'd like their dead; Imperial wonders rais'd on Nations spoil'd, Where mix'd with Slaves the groaning Martyr toil'd : Huge Theatres, that now unpeopled Woods, Now drain'd a diftant country of her Floods : 5 Fanes, Fanes, which admiring Gods with pride furvey, Perhaps, by its own ruins fav'd from flame. 10 15 20 Ambition figh'd: fhe found it vain to trust The faithlefs Column and the crumbling Buft: Huge moles, whofe fhadow ftretch'd from fhore to shore, Their ruins perish'd, and their place no more! Convinc'd, fhe now contracts her vaft design, And all her Triumphs fhrink into a Coin. A narrow orb each crouded conqueft keeps, Beneath her Palm here fad Judea weeps. Now fcantier limits the proud Arch confine, And scarce are feen the proftrate Nile or Rhine; A fmall Euphrates through the piece is roll'd, And little Eagles wave their wings in gold. 25 30 The Medal, faithful to its charge of fame, Through climes and ages bears each form and name: In one fhort view fubjected to our eye Gods, Emperors, Heroes, Sages, Beauties, lie. 35 Th' infcription value, but the ruft adore. VOL. II. L Το To gain Pefcennius one employs his Schemes, Poor Vadius, long with learned fpleen devour'd, Their's is the Vanity, the Learning thine : Oh, when shall Britain, conscious of her claim, 40 45 50 55 How Plato's, Bacon's, Newton's looks agree; 60 A Virgil there, and here an Addison. Then fhall thy Craggs (and let me call him mine) With afpect open fhall erect his head, And round the orb in lafting notes be read, "Statesman, yet friend to Truth! of foul fincere, "In action faithful, and in honour clear; 65 "Who 1 |